Grasping at Straws

Six years had passed since my last visit to Albion, the small town in northeast Nebraska where I grew up. My family no longer lives there, and the pandemic disrupted an annual canoe trip that had previously taken me back with some regularity. I realized that I was feeling a little homesick, especially for the kind of big, expansive skies and sweeping vistas that simply do not exist in Toronto. I decided to head down for a few days.

Ahead of my trip, I wondered and worried about what I might encounter after such a long absence. This being an election year in the United States, there would surely be candidate yard signs aplenty and numerous billboards supporting this ballot initiative or that. I knew I would see evidence of the culture wars playing out in flags and bumper stickers. I resigned myself to the fact that I’d be surrounded by law-abiding Cornhuskers carrying concealed weapons. I was prepared to be shocked by the land of my youth, but I had no idea what...